


oh, trust in me, my pretty one

by IndridGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Crying Kink, Doctor/Patient, Extremely Underage, M/M, Manipulation, Medical Kink, Pedophilia, Sadism, Size Difference, dark!Sam, every parent's worst nightmare, oblivious victim, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndridGrey/pseuds/IndridGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say that Dean’s first pediatrician visit by himself doesn’t go well would be a massive fucking understatement.</p>
<p>Read the tags ffs!</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, trust in me, my pretty one

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE TAGS, READ THEM NOW!
> 
> Title from "Candyman" by Siouxsie and the Banshees. Fill for the dark square on my spnkinkbingo card

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to go with you, sweetie?  It’s okay if you do.”

The nurse put on a fake smile for the five-year-old glancing between his mom and her.

“The doctor isn’t scary, right, miss?  And I won’t need a shot?”

Very professionally, she didn’t sigh as she checked the file she had.  “Nope, no shots today.  And Dr. Winchester may be huge, but he’s very, very nice.  I promise.”

The boy was quiet for a couple seconds, biting his lip, before he pulled his shoulders back and touched his mom’s arm.  “I’ll be okay, Mommy.  Imma big boy now, so I gotta go by myself.”

The mom was fighting a grin.  “Okay, pumpkin.  If you change your mind, I’ll be right out here.”

He nodded and turned to the nurse.  “I’m ready.”

She held the door to the hall of exam rooms open for him and watched him march through like a little soldier.  He was one of the most solemn kids she’d ever seen.  Shots or no, most kids clung to their guardians until they were preteens.

“Right this way, Dean.  I’ll wait with you for the doctor.  Shouldn’t be long.”

She found out over the next nine minutes that, for all the solemnity, he was just as much a nervous chatterbox as other kids his age.  She appreciated not having to contribute much to the conversation, but she’d been hoping he’d be quiet so she could read her magazine in peace.  She could only fake so many smoking and bathroom breaks.

There was a knock before the door opened and Dean’s antsyness was blanked out by awe.  “You’re _really_ tall, mister!” greeted Sam as he fished the patient file out of the cubby on the door.  She always put the files in the wrong way, so the papers tried to escape, just to annoy him.

“Told ya, kid.”  She stood with a sigh and tucked her magazine back in her scrubs.  She smirked and greeted the doctor, “Moose.”

Sam rolled his eyes a little.  “Nurse Masters.”

“His mom’ll be in the waiting room if you need her.  See you, Dean.”

Sam closed the door behind her sauntered exit and turned to his new patient.  Paused.

Dean Campbell was a beautiful child.  Vivacious eyes, light copper hair, pale freckles strewn over nose and cheeks.  The kind of mouth that made Sam question the existence of a God who would put such a thing on a child.

He put the patient file on the counter.  “Hello, Dean.  I’m Dr. Winchester; you can call me Sam.”  Dean took the outreached hand and squeezed it as hard as he could during the two pumps.  Already a little man-in-training.  “Why didn’t your mom come back with you?”

The boy sat up rod-straight with his chest puffed out a little, a picture of clumsy bravado, and recited, “Imma big boy, now.  I gotta learn to do these things by myself.”

Sam wondered how many times this kid had been told to watch out for his mom as if she wasn’t the adult.  Maybe he was the Man of the House.  “That’s very grown up of you,” Sam commented.

Dean relaxed in surprise at that response, like he wasn’t used to being taken seriously.  Then he ducked his head with a little smile before he looked back up with a look of remembrance.  “Why’d the nurse call you a moose?”

Sam sat on his wheeled stool.  “That’s my favorite animal, and I’m big like one.  How about you?  What’s your favorite animal?”

Dean swung his legs back and forth absently and squinted in thought.  “Um, it was squirrels but lizards are pretty awesome, too.  Cats make me sneeze a whole lot, so def’nitely not them.”

“Allergies are no fun,” Sam agreed and pulled his plexor from a coat pocket.  “Alright, Dean, first we’re going to check you over and make sure everything’s working like it should.  How about we start with seeing if I can make you kick.”

Dean giggled when the tap made his leg fling out.   “Why do doctors do that?”

“To check your nerves.”

“My nerves? Like, to get on ’em?”

Sam tapped the other knee.  All good.  “Not quite.  These nerves are inside your body and they’re how your muscles know when to move and how you feel, like when you touch something.”

“Oh.”  Dean’s brow furrowed in that confused concern unique to young children.  “Are they okay?”

Sam smiled as he pocketed his plexor.  “They’re just fine, Dean.  Now I’m going to look in your ears, nose, and mouth, okay?  Let me know if anything feels weird.”

Dean nodded and went back to kicking his heels against the examination table, watching Sam stand and click a speculum onto his otoscope.  Sam looked in both ears, and hesitated for a moment when he tilted Dean’s head up to look in his nose and Dean automatically opened his mouth.  Dean snorted a laugh at the tickle of the speculum against his nasal hairs.  Sam traded the speculum for a tongue depressor and pushed in the step at the bottom of the exam table in order to get closer.  Dean opened right up again, and gagged a second later.  Sam pulled the depressor out.

“Uh-oh.  You alright there?”

Dean nodded and licked his lips.  “Tastes like strawb’rry.”

“We have grape, too, if you prefer?”

“No, tha’s okay.  Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, buddy, happens to the best of us.  I didn’t see everything I needed to, though, so we need to try again, okay?”

Dean didn’t hesitate.  Sam watched his valiant effort to not gag again, eyes watering, until Sam pushed just a little too far and Dean’s throat spasmed.

“Everything looks fine.  You did real good, Dean.”  Sam put a hand on a thin shoulder and ducked down to smile at Dean.  The kid gave a watery smile back.  Oh, man.  “Still doing alright?”

“Yeah.”

Sam threw the depressor and speculum in a bin, put away his otoscope, and set his stethoscope earbuds in.  “I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs now, okay?”

“Do I need t’take off my shirt?”

Sam stared at him for a moment.  “That would be helpful, yes.”

Dean nodded and pulled it off, revealing more freckles across the tops of shoulders, a tiny pooch that suggested a good appetite and the means to accommodate it, and a couple faded bruises on his ribs, probably from roughhousing or sports.

“I like your shirt, by the way.  Do you know what kind of dinosaur it is?”  Sam pretended to breathe on the diaphragm to warm it while Dean looked at the shirt in his lap.

“I dunno; but all dinosaurs are awesome, so I don’t think it really matters.”  Dean decided.

Sam nodded and moved to stand just behind and out of sight of the kid.  “Fair enough.  This may be cold, and I need you to stay quiet for this part.”

Dean nodded and sat straighter.  Sam smiled, and smiled a little wider when Dean jumped as the cold metal touched him.

“And stay still, Dean.”

Dean nodded again and took on a mien of concentration.  He was a very endearing kid.  After a minute of counting heartbeats, Sam shifted to listen to Dean’s lungs.

“Deep breath.” Sam repeated it several times, rounding back to Dean’s front, watching the small frame expand, teensy pink-brown nipples erect from the chill.  “Sounds good.”

Sam cupped Dean’s jaw.  Bright green eyes stared back at him, unflinching, as Sam kneaded.

“M’kay.  Lay back.”

Dean did so, wiggled to settle, shirt in his lap.  Sam pressed the diaphragm over Dean’s abdomen.  Fine.  He looped the stethoscope around his neck again and lightly ran his hands over the tiny tummy, although one hand could just about cover the whole thing.  Dean wiggled again and made a small noise.

Sam grinned and glanced up to see a pink-cheeked pout.  “Ticklish?”

“A li’l.”

“I have to push harder; let me know if any of it hurts, okay?”

“ ’kay.”

Sam took his time pressing his fingertips into the warm, soft belly, and deliberately ended with a skate up ribs, earning a giggle.  He checked Dean’s pulse at his wrist and ankle before he sat back on his stool and grabbed Dean’s file.

“You seem healthy as can be, little man.  Let’s check out what your mom said on your forms.  Do you have any questions?”

“Can I sit up now?”

Sam looked up at the supine boy staring at him, waiting for permission; his pulse picked up a bit.  “What, don’t want to take a nap?”

“I’m too big for naps!”

“Nobody’s too big for naps.  I’m _very_ big and I love naps.”

“Well…you’re just weird, then.”

Truer words may have never been spoken about Sam Winchester.  “You may be right.”

Dean still hadn’t sat up, was watching Sam watch him, expectant.

When Sam just kept staring, Dean puffed out pink freckled cheeks and asked more assertively, “Can I _please_ sit up now?”

The semi that Sam had been stubbornly ignoring throbbed.  “Sure, Dean.”

He sat up with a sigh and didn’t ask about his shirt, just resumed his kicking.  Sam ripped his gaze away to actually read the forms for any concerns Mommy Campbell had.

Sam almost swore.  Satan was testing him.

He was many things: a skilled physician, an estranged son, an avid runner, a lenient boss, an okay friend.  One thing that Sam Winchester was not, despite what he let everyone assume, was a good man.  Honestly, he wasn’t even semi-decent; he was just good at faking.  Ever since he was Dean’s age, he’d known he was different, wrong somehow, and usually he got by just fine without it being a Thing.

Moments like this, though… He’d had a similar perfect storm a couple years ago: Jessica Moore, 9, beautiful and desperately sunny, had come in for something to help with vaginal tearing.  Guardians coming in with those type problems either came back to chat his ear off with explanatory lies and deflections, or they stayed in the waiting room like there was nothing noteworthy happening.  Jessica’s father had opted to stay behind and let her deal with the doctor on her own.  Sam hadn’t taken that opportunity and had regretted it ever since.

Mary Campbell’s young son had trouble with constipation and she was worried about hemorrhoids.

Sam was sporting more than a semi now.

“Dean, it looks like you mom was worried about something here.  Tell me, do you have trouble going number 2 sometimes?”

The five-year-old, who Sam would bet found toilet humor hilarious, froze then slouched and ducked his head.  His face turned rosy.

“Sometimes, yeah.  It hurts after a while.  I didn’t tell my mommy, but I cried a couple times.”

“Does it feel like you’re not ever done, even when nothing else is coming out?”

A tiny, soft “yeah.”

“It’s okay, Dean.  It happens to just about everyone at some point.”

The kid perked back up, eyes bright between embarrassment and relief.  “Really?”

Sam nodded.  He hesitated, took stock that his heart was racing and he could feel his pulse in his cock.  He shifted and laid the file across his lap.  “Has it hurt recently?  Like in the past couple days?”

“A little.”  Dean slumped again, fiddling with his shirt and kicking.

Here were the facts:  Sam had to at least look at Dean’s ass and it would be completely reasonable, even if Sam _weren’t_ a particularly sick fuck, to do a digital rectal exam; the room they were in was practically soundproof since children tend to get hysterical if they hear someone else crying about getting a shot; Dean was at an age when he still unintentionally exaggerated, so most accounts of something unusual (like having his ass stuffed painfully full) were taken with a pinch of salt; Dean obviously wanted to please the adults in his life and therefore would be easy to manipulate; fucking Dean would please Sam very much; Sam’s cock was on the slim side so he might actually get it in; either way, Sam was confident he could allay any concerns Ms. Campbell might have if Dean seemed worse off than expected upon return.

Sam decided.

“I’m going to need to take a look, okay?”

The little head whipped up and mortification shone in wide eyes and on open lips.  “You wanna look— _there_?”

“It’s my job, buddy.  I need to try to find out what it is and how bad it is so I can help.  You don’t need to be embarrassed—old people get _cameras_ put up their butts to check everything.  We’re not doing anything like that, though; this is just between you and me, and you don’t need to be embarrassed with me, Dean.”

“Old people really do that?”  A distilled childhood expression of disgust and interest.  “Why?”

Sam smiled and got up to gather gloves, lube, and diaper wipes onto the counter, keeping his back to Dean as much as he could.  “Like I said, to make sure everything’s going okay in there, make sure nothing way worse than what’s going on with you is happening to them.”

“That’s really weird, though.”

Sam squatted down in front of Dean and gently clasped the small bony knees, eclipsing them.  Dean looked down at him, unguarded.

“Listen to me real careful, Dean, okay?”  The boy nodded.  “What I have to do to help you feel better later on? It’s going to feel really weird and it’s going to hurt, just like when it hurts to go to the bathroom.  And I’m really sorry, but it’s the only way for me to find out what exactly is going on.  It’s going to feel like it’s taking forever but I promise I’ll go as fast as I can without hurting you more, and then I’ll do my best to make you feel all better afterwards, okay?”  Dean’s eyes were wide with fear now.  Sam’s breathing was turning shallow.  He reached up to cup baby fat cheeks.  “I need you to be really brave, okay, Dean?  Just like a grown up.  You can talk, but I need to you try to keep a quiet inside voice, like we’ve been using, and keep as still as you can.  Think you can do that, big boy?”

For the first time, Dean was hesitant in his response.  For a second, Sam was certain that he would ask for his mom, but then Dean nodded.

“Attaboy.”  Sam smiled wide at him and thin shoulders relaxed a little.  Sam stood again and locked the door.  “I’m locking it so no one walks in and sees you.  I need you to get naked, Dean.”

Dean lifted and lowered his shirt, glancing around for a clue as to where to put it.  Sam reached out to take it and dropped it between his supplies and the sink as Dean toed his Velcro shoes off to fall to the floor.  Sam knelt down to move them just in time to be almost eyelevel when Dean started to try to wiggle out of his jeans.

“Let me help,” Sam offered, and he lifted Dean to stand on the examination table.  God.  He weighed hardly anything.

Sam’s fingers only trembled a little as he unbuttoned and unzipped Dean’s jeans, not that the kid was paying him any mind, instead staring around like the new height made the room alien.  “I’m tall like you!”

“Sure are.  You planning on growing up this tall?”

“I’ll be even taller than you!”  Dean vowed, and then shoved his jeans and then his Superman briefs down to step out of them.

Sam was a beat late in his response. “That’d be quite a feat.”

“Whassat?”

The denim and briefs joined the shirt.  “Like an accomplishment, doing something big.  You want to keep your socks on?”

Dean stared down at his feet in contemplation for a second before taking his socks off and handing them to Sam.  “Nah, who wears just socks?”  Tiny toes flexed and curled, crinkled the exam table paper.

“You got me there.”  Sam could see all of the boy—mild tan gradients, immature genitals, rough and tumble boo-boos.  Sam reached out and touched Dean’s upper arm, so thin and fragile.  How did he want him?  Standard for a DRE was lying on one’s side with one leg straight and the other hitched up, but Sam didn’t exactly have standard goals in mind.  He sat back down on his stool.  “Turn around to face the other way and get on your hands and knees.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed again, realizing, no doubt, which part of him would end up in Sam’s face.  Nonetheless, he did as he was told, a chaste presentation that sent a wave of heat through Sam’s loins.  Sam’s hands were steady when he reached forward to grasp Dean’s thighs, making Dean jump.

“Hey, it’s okay, just me.  If you’re scared, deep breaths.  I need you to move back towards me.”

“ ’m not scared,” was mumbled as the slight body swayed and crawled backwards.

“I told you this is going to hurt; it’s okay to be scared, Dean.”  Sam slid his hands up to grasp hips and tugged Dean an unnecessary bit closer to the edge.  “I promise I’m going to do my best to make it hurt as little as possible,” Sam lied.

“Okay.”  And this pure, pint-sized creature actually believed him.

Sam snapped a glove before tossing it back onto the counter and grabbing the lube.  He poured it onto his right index and middle fingers and angled them so the runoff drizzled into the cleavage of Dean’s ass.  Dean jumped a little; Sam reminded him about deep breaths.

A sharp unhappy gasp echoed through the room at Sam’s first hard rub across the tiny asshole.  It was velour, delicate, resilient but marred.  A moan almost shuddered out along Sam’s exhale.  “Inside voice, Dean.”

“Sorry,” came the squeak.

This kid was going to kill Sam, and Sam wouldn’t even regret it.  He had wanted to do this since he hit puberty but was always too afraid of being caught, scared into being one of the ‘good ones.’  Well, not today, fuck you very much.  Sam just wished he had more time, that he didn’t have to worry about quickly fixing the boy to return to his mother.  He spread the lube over the boy’s asshole in earnest, all too aware of the time limitation. He ordered Dean to relax, deep breaths, slouch a little if it helped.  As soon as he got enough give, Sam breached with his index fingertip.  Dean snapped into a flinch with a high-pitched whine.

Sam petted Dean’s lower back, his hand span blanketing it.  “You’re doing so good, buddy.  Stay as relaxed as you can, I know it feels weird.”

Sam was far from relaxed himself—the little sphincter was convulsing around his finger tip the best it could, fighting the intrusion, and Sam was _aching_.  He reached down with his free hand to open his slacks and shoved them, quick but quiet, down his thighs, all the while making tiny pumping motions into Dean’s ass until in to the second joint.

“You okay, Dean?”

All he got was a hurried nod.

“We gotta get something kinda big in to really feel, so just hang on tight, okay?  Remember: brave, quiet, and still,” and then he wedged his middle fingertip in, too.

Dainty thighs quaked and Sam heard an almost-stifled sob.  Arousal zinged through him, prickled behind his ears and twitched his dick. He moved the elastic waistband of his underwear to just under his cock, keeping his balls safe behind fabric, and started light pulls on his cock in time to his miniscule digital thrusts.

“M-mister Sam?  It huuurts.”  And that was all it took for Sam’s dick to start oozing.

“I know, baby, I know.  We can’t stop, though, so you gotta be a big boy for me.”

A couple minutes of plateau: Sam adding more lube, another finger, spreading wider and wider, and Dean whimpering and shaking and _taking_ _it_.

Until, finally, Sam was sure that he wouldn’t cause unexplainable injury.  When he stood, he towered over the little body flushed all pretty from distress.  “Alright, Dean, I know it hurts but I really need you to try to relax, make all your muscles like jello.  We’re going to do the bigger thing and then we’ll be done and can get you feeling better, okay?  But first we gotta get through this.”  Sam stroked down Dean’s clenching back in an effort to soothe him.  “You ready?”

“No!”  The protest was strained and lost and Sam needed to be fucking him _now_.

“The longer we take, the longer until it’s over,” Sam reasoned.  “It’s not going to feel better until we’re all done.  So I’m gonna…”

His fingers burned with the effort of spreading apart to gape Dean slightly and nudge the tip of his cock in.  Dean thrashed briefly with a quiet, hurt mewl and a spurt of precum shot into him, not that he could probably feel much past the pain.  Christ, Sam’s cock might be thin, but it looked huge snuggled up in the bitty ass. 

Sam shifted to a better angle and braced himself.  He had to at least sound professional, couldn’t afford for Dean to notice his labored breathing or any vocalizations.  “Deep breath,” he warned.

“No, wait, no no no n— _aaaahn—_ ”

Sam pushed his whole glans in and accidentally forced in another glorious half-inch when he lurched forward to clap a hand over Dean’s shrieking mouth.  Sam stilled, panting and overwhelmed.  Dean’s insides were oscillating rapidly in panic between bearing down and contracting, scorching and almost too tight.  Hot tears rolled over Sam’s hand and his hips jolted forward again of their own accord.  He was not going to last long.

“Inside voice, Dean.”

He rocked forward again and fresh tears leaked down.  Dean jerked and scrabbled, ripped the paper covering on the examination table.  He was trying to get away.  Sam couldn’t touch with both hands, just in case, so he risked sliding his hand from over Dean’s mouth down to hook across tremoring shoulders, holding the little torso up.

“And _still_.”  It was a struggle to keep the viciousness out of his voice.

“Nonononono, t-take it out, mmmister, pl _ease_ —it h-hurtssso much!  ’s o-kay if it hurts t’go potty, jus’ _stoooop!_ ”  Dean’s voice broke. Sam bore down on him, trapped him further with weight, and picked up a slow, shallow fuck.  Dean flinched hard into Sam’s forearm and choked on a dismayed wail.

Sam tried to pitch his voice to sound compassionate, but it was hard to keep up the act with his cock dragging against luscious constriction, and he failed right into sternness. “Then you’ll have gone through all this for nothing, Dean.  We’re almost done, okay?  You’re doing so well, just a little longer and it’ll all be over.  You’re a big boy, right? You can handle this?”

Dean was outright weeping now, quietly, like a good boy.  “P’ease, noooo, take i’ out!  It hurts it hurts it hurts it h _uuuurts!_ ”

Sam shifted to look at Dean’s face and the thrill that slashed through him set his hips into a harder tempo: freckles overwhelmed with bright red highlighted by shiny streaks; green eyes wide, glassy, and unfocused; brows tight with agony and helplessness; pornographic mouth gaped open with labored breathing between whispered babbles; a strand of drool swaying with Sam’s harsh thrusts.  Sam wanted to fuck that face, rub his cock in the tears and snot and shove into soft pallet, the back of Dean’s throat, make him choke on it, see if he could make Dean snort out cum.

He traded his rhythm for one of pulling out farther until Dean’s sphincter was caught wide on the corona of Sam’s cockhead before pushing back into the yielding rectum.  Dean’s fingernails scratched the sleeve on the arm holding him up and the mumbles were replaced by gasps and wounded keens.

He was in this kid—Sam was _fucking_ this kid.  Violating him.  Ruining him.  Even if Dean didn’t figure it out for years, even if he made himself forget, it wouldn’t change that Sam had taken this precious, unsullied child and fucked him into a sobbing, desperate, tortured _mess_.

Sam shuddered at the tell-tale tightening in his groin; fuck, he was so close.  He pulled out even farther, past the clenching sphincter, the clinging pectinate line, just far enough out on the anoderm to rub his glans hard against Dean’s very real external hemorrhoids and brand new fissures before he stabbed back into the spasming hole.  Dean let out a mucus-thick sob and a wavering, hopeless “it hurts” and then a savage orgasm, the hardest of his life, hurtled through Sam and his semen fired into Dean’s raw insides, soiling the little boy for life.

Sam didn’t spare a moment for afterglow before he straightened.  Without Sam’s arm around his shoulders, Dean fell face-first onto the examination table—the hurt noises didn’t falter.  Sam ran a hand down Dean’s flank, back to attempting to soothe, giving himself a moment to catch his breath and get past the ringing in his ears and the weakness in his knees.  Aftershocks were still fliting through him; his genitals were spent but throbbing in overstimulation.

“Hush, Dean.  The worst part is over, okay?  I just gotta take it out and then I can take a look at you.  Stay still until I move you, okay?”

Dean’s miserable moan was the hottest thing Sam had ever heard.  He steadied his dick and pulled out slow, keeping a grounding hand on Dean’s flank as a reminder to stay still.  Dean gasped and twitched when Sam squelched completely free.  Sam watched the irritated hole shudder closed before he turned to clean and resituate himself.

He sprayed odor neutralizer (god only knew how many kids had literally shit themselves in any given room at the practice) and then readied a new trash bag, wipes, analgesic cream, cotton swabs, and baby powder.  He took a deep breath, settled back into his gentle giant façade, sat on his stool, and rolled up towards Dean’s head.

“That sucked pretty bad, huh?”  Sam whispered like he was talking to a wounded animal, which wasn’t exactly inaccurate.  “I am so sorry about that, kiddo, but as awful as it was, now I can help you out so hopefully you don’t have to hurt like that ever again.  You going to be okay?”  He rubbed across shoulder blades.

Dean turned his face towards Sam.  He looked awful—blotchy and covered in sweat, tears, mucus, and spit.  He wore it beautifully.  “I think so.”

Sam smiled, pulled out a diaper wipe, and started rubbing at Dean’s face.  “Yeah, you’ll be fine.  We’re going to fix you up.  Your mom won’t even be able to tell you cried again.  I’ll tell her how good and brave you were.”

“Really?  But I didn’t stay quiet or still and I was scared.  It really hurt—still hurts.”  The little face was glum.  Sam wanted to fuck it so bad.

“But you were quiet and still enough for me to get it done pretty quickly.  And didn’t you know that being brave means being scared and doing the thing anyway?”

Dean shook his head and sniffed.  He brought his hands up to rub away the gathering tears.  “What—what did you do?”

“Tell you what: if you can stand okay, let’s pull the step in the table out and you bend over so I can look and I’ll explain.  That sound good?”

Dean wiggled further towards the edge, crumpling the already suspiciously fucked up table paper even more.  Sam was distracted for a moment by the knowledge that since Dean was on his tummy, his little puffy penis and sac were getting squished and rubbed all over.  Sam pulled out the step at the end of the table and set a couple medical books from the counter down so that Dean’s ass would be easy to peer into.

Dean settled and flinched when a glop of Sam’s cum escaped and slid down his taint onto his thigh.  Sam’s breath shortened all over again.  Unfortunately, Dean would almost definitely be able to tell the difference between a baby wipe and Sam’s tongue, no matter how out of it he might still be.  Sam pulled his phone out of his coat.  “Hold still, Dean, I’ll get it in just a sec.”  He snapped several mementos, careful to angle everything so as to make it less obvious how much more growing the model had to do.  He tucked his phone away and grabbed a new wipe.  “Bit cold.”  Dean shivered when it swiped up and very lightly ran over his hole.  Sam had a brief fantasy of finding some excuse to wipe down wee genitals.  Dean was too young for the cough exam, though.  “Is standing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Now we’re back to where it shouldn’t hurt that much.  So if I touch a very painful place please let me know, since that may be somewhere I need to check extra careful.”

Dean gulped and nodded.  Sam used one hand to hold Dean’s cheeks apart and the other hand’s pinky dipped past the still-wet opening, causing Dean to twinge.

“I know it’s hard, but relaxing really will help.”  He started massaging his spunk into Dean’s walls.  It wouldn’t absorb well while this shallow in the GI tract, but Sam was determined to do what he could.  “What we just did was to open you up and get everything wet so I could do this and feel around.  Believe it or not, it feels a _lot_ worse when it’s not wet at all.  Unfortunately, sometimes it takes a while to get wet enough, sorry about that.”

Dean just nodded.

Sam smirked.  “Now I’m feeling around and making sure everything’s nice and wet in here to help.  I’m feeling for weird bumps that come from you trying really hard to potty or having really big or hard poop.  The bumps on the inside may not hurt but if they move to the outside they will, and they can bleed, so it’s important to check.”

A minute passed quietly while Sam worked as much of his cum into Dean as he could.  The kid’s breathing returned to normal.

When Sam figured he’d done all he could, he inserted a cotton bud and swabbed around for the excess.  “Although I need it wet to feel around, it’s important that you try to stay as dry as possible.”

It took six buds for Sam to feel safe that nothing was going to leak out and endanger him.  Dean might shit some out later, but Sam was confident he could explain it away if Ms. Campbell happened to notice and called in concern.  He focused on the lube-shiny entrance.  The hemorrhoids were undeniably redder than when Sam had fingered Dean open.  There were also a couple fissures just from having been split open on Sam’s cock, but they were small and weren’t even really bleeding.  He took another couple pictures, because he had fucked this kid hard enough that he’d _torn_ him, and fuck if that wasn’t hot.  He gave all the silk-velvet hurts a firm rub and Dean’s knees wobbled, so he did it again.

“These are what your mom was worried about, and what hurts when you potty.  They’re mostly the same kind of bumps but on the outside.  The good news is that they should be pretty easy to keep from happening in the future.  I’ll tell her all about it when we see her in a few minutes.”

“Are…are you gonna tell ’er everything?”

And wasn’t it perfect that Dean was so ashamed of crying, of being not quite enough of a big boy to handle his doctor’s appointment well.  Sam grinned.  He’d picked a perfect first.

Sam aimed to pitch his voice as accommodating, and didn’t fail this time.  “Is there something you don’t want me to tell her?”

He used a fresh wipe to rub the lube and last traces of semen off and, along with another wobble, a small distressed noise eeked out of Dean.  The kid was testing Sam’s refractory period.

“I—I don’t want ’er to know w-what a wimp I am.  She gets worried when I cry.”

“Well, I have to tell her what I did, but I can try to keep her from worrying.”

“Thanks, Mister Moose.”

Sam paused in squeezing cream onto his fingertip.  Seriously, this kid.  He took a deep breath.

“Of course, little man; that’s what friends are for.”  He peeked at Dean’s face—still not a hint of ire or suspicion, just discomfort and resignation.  Sam turned back to the task at hand.  “This’ll be cold and it might sting a little, but it will make the worse of the pain go away for a while.”  If Sam rubbed the cream into the swollen fever-warm skin a little more aggressively than necessary, causing one last reflex of a jerk and gasp, well…

Sam finished with a dusting of baby powder and soaked up the sight of the petite, vulnerable, naked body for a moment before adding the wipes to the trash bag and washing his hands.

He watched like a hawk for every flinch as he helped Dean get dressed, but Dean held it together remarkably well for someone his age.   Sam distracted him by asking Dean to tell him everything he knew about dinosaurs and squirrels, which turned out to be quite a lot.  By the time that Sam had materials packed away, the trash bag of evidence stashed away, and had sprayed odor neutralizer again, Dean was chatting away.

Children really can be miraculously adaptable.  Sam sat at the half desk, made the photos on his phone more secure, and wrote notes in Dean’s file and instructions for Ms. Campbell while Dean ranted, encouraged by Sam’s seemingly attentive noises.

Sam waited out an absolutely adorable impression of a squirrel before announcing they were done and ready to go meet Dean’s mom.  The kid perked up even more before ducking his head, hesitant and nervous.  “And you’re _def’nitely_ not gonna tell her ’bout me cryin’, right?”

Sam smiled, genuinely pleased.  “No, Dean.  It’ll be our little secret.”  Dean nodded and offered a beaming smile.  He pouted when Sam ruffled fine hair.  “I’m just sorry you had to go through that,” he lied.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Of course you will be; I’m a doctor, after all,” Sam teased.  “Now let’s go find your mom.”  Dean hopped off the examination table, faltered, took the outreached hand for balance, and didn’t let go again, even after his steps steadied.  Sam wanted to keep him.

Ms. Campbell was predictably radiant and Sam felt a pang of envy at the absolute devotion with which Dean regarded her.  The boy tucked into her side and smiled up at Sam, completely at ease.  Sam summarized his notes before handing them to Ms. Campbell and felt a little resentful at how attentive and earnest she was.  She was probably a great mom who just made the easy mistake of assuming that “doctor” meant “trustworthy”.  She did look distressed when Sam said he’d done a digital exam, and asked Dean why he hadn’t asked for her, to which the little boy shrugged.  Sam felt reassured that Dean wouldn’t endanger him.

Sam squatted down to Dean’s level and reiterated what a good and brave boy Dean had been during his visit, and something in Sam’s chest locked in place at the responding flushed smile.  He offered Dean his choice of lollipops and stickers, promised that it’d go _much_ better next time as long as he listened to his mom, and shook his, and then his mom’s, hand goodbye.

Sam watched the two walk off before hurrying back to the exam room to fetch the trash bag to bring to his office.  Once he was in his own leather chair with the door closed behind him and the bag locked in his desk, he relaxed.

He’d finally done it and it had been so much better than he had ever dreamt.  Fantasizing about hurting and desecrating something treasured was one thing, but actually feeling the reluctant, tight vise, actually having cherubic innocence at his mercy to indelibly tarnish, and to still be seen as trustworthy and _good_ afterward…

He had fap material for twenty lifetimes over.

The only thing, really, that might be even better would be more time, enough to be able to _really_ break body and spirit.  He flipped open Dean’s file—which should have already been turned over to the front desk—and memorized the intake form, including the address. 

Sam wondered.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If there is a tag that you think I'm missing, please message me


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